


A Simple Man

by AceQueenKing



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Padmé Amidala, Confederacy of Independent Systems, F/M, Kidnapping, Padmé Amidala Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 00:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12829839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Padme's life is turned upside down when Jango kidnaps her, but this turns out to be the first in a series of stunning revelations.





	A Simple Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magnetgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnetgirl/gifts).



1\. Jango had to admit that Zam did her job, and did it well.

She was a professional, and she'd been excellent when it came to taking out the two Jedi that had been stuck with Senator babysitting duty. At first, he had worried about the competence of the shape-shifter, given that she seemed to put her faith in some rare, but potent slugs that would poison the senator - good enough to work, if you ignored the fact that the Confederacy had paid good money to get a hold of the Senator _alive_. 

Still, he hadn't anticipated entirely that it would be a ruse until she'd sent him word to follow in after her once she lured the Jedi away. Zam wasn't much for long—term planning; a woman on her feet, that one. 

He hadn't anticipated how far she'd lead them away, but even Jango, a noted veteran, was surprised to see she'd taken the Jedi well over into the clubhouse district. It was unlikely the Jedi would be able to make it back in anything less than twenty minutes, which meant Jango had plenty of time to do what he had come here to do. 

He broke into the Jedi's rather embarrassing security bridge easily; he didn't need a droid to keep the locks disabled and the alarms silent. After that, it was as simple as stepping between two infrared lines and leading his way into the Senator's apartment. Her rooms were surprisingly simple; sparse. It somewhat reminded him of Kamino, in the way everything had a place and everything was in its place.  Plain. Sterile. 

He heard the shift of silk in the bedroom and would have even without the audio amplification of the helmet. He turned and moved toward, not ruminating on the Senator's belongings. They were unimportant. 

He strode in quickly, without bothering to announce his presence. A weak-willed senator was an easy enough target - 

A blast of laser-fire burned his thigh, fire-hot, and he groaned, leaning forward into the door frame. "Kriff!" He swore, then looked up and saw Padmé Amidala staring forward at him, looking like nothing so much as an avenging angel. The silk nightdress was not, however, Mandalorian battle gear, and in this, he held an advantage. 

"Try it again," She said, her voice light and less afraid than he'd expect for someone who had just survived two assassination attempts. "And I aim for your face."

"It would do nothing," he said, pulling out his own weapon. She was a small lamb, and no doubt meeker than the swagger suggested. He doubted she would be able to duck or dodge much; most of his targets tended to freeze when a solid blaster was pointed at them. He dialed his weapon back to stun and shot it clean from his hip. Padmé  Amidala dodged, rolling, and came at him, firing blindly. A second shot hit the tender spot between two pieces of armor on his chest - he grunted in pain from the shock of it. 

He resisted the urge to feel his chest, knowing that the armor had done its job well enough by the fact he was alive and the blow  _only_ hurt like hell. He pressed his gun again but she ducked forward, springing into a run with a grunt.

"Who sent you?" She demanded, throwing her weight at his arm. He moved just enough to make her miss, and then fired, catching her full in the back. A good attempt, he had to admit. The senator was more hellcat than lap cat, and that was a delightful and unexpected turn of events. 

"I'm nobody," he said, though she was unconscious and could not hear him. Despite the way she moved, the graceful senator had fallen into a lump on the floor, lightly drooling upon his shoe.

He picked her up and carried her out, and neither of the Jedi arrived in time to stop him. Zam, he thought with a curve of his lips, was truly a professional, far more than he had given her credit for. 

 He would have to ensure that he had a word with Darth Tyrannus to give the woman a few more credits. She was nothing if not resourceful, and Jango respected that.

2\. When Padmé Amidala awoke and saw stars, she knew with a sickening thud in her heart that she was in trouble. 

She took a deep breath, glancing wildly through the small room. She was in some sort of small room, her hands and legs both put in cuffs but otherwise unrestrained. There was no windows in the starship walls, but she looked up and could see hyperspace, whirling by her eyes. 

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Tried to remember the facts.

Fact: Anakin and Obi-Wan had failed. Whether they had been distracted by the first assassin or simply defeated by them, they were no longer protecting her. Fact: Her handmaiden too had been dispatched, was possibly dead. Fact: She was no longer on Coruscant, and was traveling far away from it at a very constant speed that was very fast. Fact: She might not be in Republic space, not anymore. Fact: She was alone, restrained. She tested her limbs and found them movable, if very sore. Neither set of cuffs was tied to the floor so she was able to at least able to stretch her limbs. She had been stunned, and her mouth tasted thick with saliva and grit, but otherwise, she was alright.

"Oy," She called out. "Who are you?"

No answer.

She stood up, her nails scrapping on the wall. "Hey! Who are you? Why are you holding me?" She tried again, and again, a loud noise banging on the door. It had air holes that she could fit her fingers through – if only just.

Just when her nails began to crack from scraping against the slippery transparent plastoid shield, a face appeared. He reminded her something of Captain Panaka; flinty eyes and a warrior's grace, slightly scared. He was not an unhandsome man, but neither was his a face she recognized. Which meant, almost certainly, that he was working for someone else. 

"It's not your business," he said, flatly. He slipped a thin pocket of rations down the hole and she caught them with one hand and flatly jammed the other against the window. "You'll meet my employer soon enough." 

He attempted to jam down the screen but Padmé 's hand got in the way. She winced as the plastoid shield slammed down on her fingertips, but held fast, even as he tried again and again. 

"Can you just leave it off?" She asked, quietly. "I promise I won't escape." That, of course, was a lie, but as a politician, she was used to the need for lies in difficult situations.  Now that she knew for sure he wasn't working alone, what she needed to do was regain information, as much as was possible. She slid her fingers back into the hold and looked up at him, smiling as benevolently as possible. 

He laughed. "I doubt a little hellcat like you could behave yourself." He slammed down the plastoid cargo door and Padmé sunk downward, watching the stars as they moved more and more along the horizon. 

He was really getting tired of hearing banging from his cargo bay.  It went on, hour by hour. Coruscant to Dantooine: banging. Dantooine to Elaria: banging. He went over to get a caff and the banging got louder; he had little if any hope of sleeping. He understood now why this job had come at such a bounty. She was quite the brave package, perhaps the most spirited he'd smuggled in a long while. 

"Shut up!" He bellowed. There was a small pause, but then the knocking resumed. He sighed. A part of him admired her strength, but a larger part of him just wanted her to be a good, quiet piece of cargo. He was beginning to understand why Tyranus had wanted just this one senator being brought to Kamino. Truly, if anyone had a good reason to pay upfront to kidnap someone, it was this hellcat, who he was beginning to suspect was, perhaps, not Nabian in origin. He had thought Naboo to be a land of milquetoast governors and weak-willed chancellors; this woman, if anything, was made of steel.

From what he knew of the planet, it was far too docile to produce anyone like Padmé Amidala. 

Padmé  Amidala was indeed a hellcat, and she hadn't stopped banging on his cargo cover.  How long had it been now? There was a part of him that was desperate enough to make it stop that he thought perhaps he should threaten to jettison her. That, however, could bring down the wrath of Tyrannus on him for mistreating her. He was not an idiot; Tyrannus was not someone he was willing to mess with. Dealing with the hellcat was just part of the bargain, and he'd have to take it into account next time Tyrannus wanted him to run a deal. There would certainly be no more discounts for Tyrannus; this, more than anything, paid any debt he'd incurred. He would gather up Boba, go on the run for a while. Boba was getting older now, would need to be introduced to the business sooner rather than later. 

Including, perhaps, how to deal with irritating guests. Senator Amidala was a textbook case, he thought sourly.  Her banging was so insistent that he almost missed the first shot to his bow from a Republican ship; it loomed, suddenly, in his viewscreen, and it was hardly a split second before it began to fire again.  He ran a scan as he jerked the wheel, but he moved too late, the blow hitting hard against his prow. Lights sparked against the dash and he felt the cloth burning on his arms and he swore, loudly, in Mandalorian. He stomped out the minor electrical fire but still felt the burn.  
  
"What's happening?" The hellcat shouted from her cage. "What's going on?"  
  
"Your Jedi are following!" he bellowed. He shot but the Jedi pilot was better than he suspected the Jedi would be. The Jedi was pissed, he thought; so many shots were definitively going above and beyond the usual Jedi MO of shooting to disable the engines and little more. A good pilot too; that first barrage of shots toasted his weapons system, and he wondered if perhaps the Jedi would fire again. He or she was an annoyingly good shot.  Jango wouldn't be, not now. Jango's arm was burning, the flames were gone but the pain still tingled through his fingers. 

"What?" She shouted and banged on the cargo hold. He was beginning to suspect she would never give up on what was happening. He'd known her type before, the type that was terrified of nothing so much as the loss of her own power.  It was his own type, often enough.

"Your friends!" He yelled; a second shot hit the Slave I and Jango swore. The Slave wasn't meant for going nimbly against something as tightly controlled as a Jedi Starfighter when held by a competent pilot. Most of his jobs didn't cover government starfighter resistance; at best, a few shipping machines were all that he would have to dodge. 

 _Kriff_ , he thought, and hit the hyperdrive, setting coordinates for a star system that was three systems out from where he needed to be. The Jedi likely wouldn't be able to track his jump, but if he or she was going to use their force nonsense to attempt to it, Jango was going to be as far away as he possibly could. He hadn’t want to use the jumps – it burned into his profits like crazy – but desperate times called for desperate measures.

He stood; the autopilot could get them into hyperspace. He was not able to outrun the computer in terms of calculations. For now, he would walk over to his laser bank, see if he could repair the weapons. The one good thing about the Jedi following him was that it meant they had not followed any of the other clues they could have. They could save a lot of time by losing him here; it would be difficult, if not impossible, to follow them the multiple jumps he would now have to take back to Kamino. 

He felt the lurch as they went into hyperdrive, the stars winking out behind him into a white blur that lit up the entire interior.  But in the milliseconds before the ship sped up, moving into the ether of space, the ship rocked again - too much, this time, the sway almost pulling him down onto the floor. Jango looked back to see the Starfighter behind him and hissed. No doubt the Jedi had gotten off two more shots, slicing through his shields like so much butter. With most of the ship's power going through to the hyperdrive, the shields were faltering - and the Jedi had known enough to take total advantage of that fact. 

The good news was the Jedi had only milliseconds on their side; even if they shot clean and true, it would take several shots to take down the hyperdrive - and even that would only strand them. If the Jedi thought they would have an easier time boarding, they would quickly be surprised. Jango had tangled with a few Jedi in his day, and while he had a healthy respect for their skills, he knew they weren't the gods they liked to pretend to be. 

The second shot the Jedi fired took him by surprise. The Jedi wasn't smart, was wasting time firing at his propulsion systems. Didn't matter. A slower hyperdrive was still a hyperdrive, and he could repair any of the issues with the thrusters once they were clear of the Jedi. He yelped as a heavy wire came crashing down on him, falling from the stress of the fracture the Jedi were currently driving through his shields. He fell hard onto the cold ground; before he could entirely fade away from his consciousness, he saw the Hellcat, her angry fists still banging on the shield just a few inches from him. 

3\. Fact: She was sitting in a cargo hold of a ship that Jedi had fired on. Fact: Her kidnapper was lying on top of her plastoid prison's doorway, leaving her unable to move. She was fairly certain they'd gone into hyper drive, but not positive; she listened for a long time, sitting staring at her kidnapper's unconscious form above her. Did the ship have an autopilot? She hoped so. The thought of drifting in the middle of space until she starved to death was not appealing.

Fact: things were very quiet outside the ship. She listened and breathed deeply but she heard nothing. It was cold and dark and lonely, and only the ominous creaks and groaning of the ship as it voyaged through space. Padmé closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and tried to think of what she could do to stay alive. The room was only a few feet long, a sort of underground cargo bay used and misused by someone as lawless as her kidnapper, and there was no food beyond the small packet he had dropped down earlier that she had refused to eat. She doubted he would have gone through all that to kill her, but it was hard to tell. 

Padmé stared up at the grate, looking for ideas. The man's body had only halfway fallen on it; she was fairly sure she could latch open the gate through the holes in it, if only just. Thankfully the cargo bay was small and even if she could not quite fit her hands through the vent she was fairly sure she could force her fingers through the small hole. She tried to force it up, moving her fingers forward. Force, but even Jango's arm was heavy. With a great deal of effort, she was able to pull the grate upwards and open it.

Her kidnapper did not stir above her. With a grunt, Padmé tried to haul herself up, but the handcuffs left her unable to quite reach out and get a good grip - within seconds, she was sliding back toward the cargo hold she had spent hours in already. She reached out for the kidnapper's arm in desperation but this did not result in her going forward toward freedom but rather sliding backward, back toward her prison - with her kidnapper in tow.

She slammed down the five feet in a burst of hot pain, then, almost immediately, felt another round of it as the mystery man crashed on top of here. His helmet was still gone, she noticed. It would have been better for him to wear it, as the large gash across his temple was likely the source of his unconsciousness.  There were other gashes she noticed as well from him lying on her lap; an additional burn across his chest and another on a glove. 

She tried to wiggle out from underneath him but the man was too heavy, or at least his Mandalorian armor was.  It was thick and well-polished; she did not know if it was genuine but she knew certainly that it had been well cared for. The man groaned and his eyes fluttered, and she said, awkwardly, "Hello," because she did not know what else to say.

"Hello hellcat," he grumbled. She fumed a bit, disliking the nickname; it reminded her of one Pablo had given her – _kitten_ \-  all those years ago. It was too intimate for a man who had not yet deigned to even tell her his name. 

"Who are you?" She demanded. She placed her still-bound hands over his throat; not enough to choke him, but certainly enough to give him a reminder of her ability to do so. He was heavier than her and more highly armed, but she still had means of defending herself. "Tell me where you are taking me."

"Jango," he said with a sigh, looking up at her. His eyes were deep and dark, a tart chocolate brown that reminded her of Sola's eyes, wicked and bitter and _smart_. "Jango Fett."

"You're a bounty hunter, then?" She said, her mouth frozen in distaste. She’d heard of him. While she knew many politicians made use of bounty hunters for more unsavory political activities - even on Naboo, there was corruption, despite their cultural belief in the democratic process - she had never thought of them as beneficial. Bounty hunters were only a way to sully politics, to make them become a murky pit misused by the power-hungry.

"Don't look like your shit doesn't stink, sweetheart," he said, rolling his eyes. "Trust me, anything bounty hunters do, politicians do too. Your senators have probably killed more people than me." This stuck in her craw, and she stared at him, eyes cast down. It was one thing to suspect he was a murderer. It was another thing to know he was, but was also the type that spent time running his mouth on his own moral superiority. That wasn't a game she was going to play.

"I'm not getting into a moral war with you, you cretin," she grunted. "Where are you taking me?"

"To the man who employed me. Tyrannus. He paid a pretty penny to see you alive." Jango chucked. "I wondered why he would pay so much for a mere senator. It isn't that hard to suffer a few Jedi attacks - "  
  
"That nearly killed you."

"A glancing blow from a starship is not a murder," he said with a grunt. It was almost comical, his expression; defensive pride mixed with a sour distaste.

"Let me go," she said. "And I won't choke you." She pressed down a bit, letting him feel the heavy line of the steel cuffs; they were an old style, ancient really; no doubt he hadn't bothered for anything more than this because he hadn't thought her worth higher-tech. 

"Can't," he said with a shrug. "It's not a decision for me or you; Darth Tyranus will decide your fate." He pulled her arms up despite her arms' muscles, which trembled and shook under her hands. "I'm just here to deliver the goods."

That was a worldview she didn't - couldn't - understand. She had made her life's work fighting against the odds for what she felt was right; to see someone deny all responsibility for their actions, to dismiss them as "just a job"; she could not understand it. Would not. It wasn't as if they were powerless in this world, after all, there was much he could do for the betterment of the galaxy - even in the Outer RIm- then just kidnapping and running dirty deeds for those afraid to get their hands dirty. 

"You alright?" He asked. He reached into a pack on his belt and brought out a packet of bacta gel. He rubbed a bit on his hand and the cut on his head. His chest he ignored; she wondered why for a moment, but then he held the bacta out to her, a surprisingly kind gesture in a man she hadn't thought to have come equipped with a soul. 

"No," she said, tartly. She pressed the bacta gel package back to him. "What is wrong with this situation isn't physical."

"Suit yourself," he grunted. He got up then, and Padmé felt the coldness that came when he had left her behind. He stood and winked at her. "Stand back, Senator."

She was about to take a step forward and ask what he would do, but there wasn’t time. He moved as soon as her foot moved forward, his movements quick and languid as rain falling onto Theed's rooftops on a summer night.He ignited a pair of rocket boots, stranding her in the cargo hold once more. She dove for his legs - despite what she knew would be a damn near crippling pain from the fire of the jets, she knew she'd have a better shot of gaining control if she caught him and escaped her cell - but missed, her hesitation making her just a few seconds too slow. 

"I'll be back later," Jango said. He looked down at her with a curious expression - eyes turned away to the corner of her small prison, his lips pursed. She couldn't tell if he was disgusted by her display or if he was rubbing it in her face. It looked almost like guilt, but a man like that - one such as him - surely had burned out their consciousness long ago - hadn't h

4\. The hellcat had ceased to rap her claws upon his cargo hold.  
  
It should have been blessed relief for his eardrums; the heavy thumps and scrambling fingers had been his only aural accompaniment since he had left Coruscant with his little package. Instead of feeling relieved, however, he just felt - empty. Lonely. There was a long silence in the old tin can, and Jango was left wondering just what Tyrannus had in mind for this little hellcat.

She would be undeniably strong support if pushed to Tyrannus' side. She wasn't dumb, Padmé; she had both a good mind and sharp reflexes, which made her dangerous. She would be an accomplished bounty hunter if things were different, he thought; if she perhaps had been born into a less rich family, born onto a burning farmland forced to fight for each scrap that she could possess and devour. She would make a good Mandalorian, he realized; the iron backbone was something that rarely was present other than in his homeland, the sort of steely kindness every Mandalorian knew from their mother.

Ah, kriff, he was really beginning to enjoy the god damn hellcat's company. That was dangerous, in his line of work. Still, perhaps Tyrannus meant to make them allies; while the Senator was nominally a Republican, she hadn't been properly introduced to the Confederacy yet. Perhaps when she would, he would be able to do assignments for her - or go on assignments with her, depending on how Tyrannus planned to use her. Wouldn't be so bad, he thought, to have a partner; it was what Jango had all but designed Boba for. But Boba would still take twenty years to reach maturity, while the Senator was here now - _kriff_.

Knowing it was stupid and dangerous to do so, Jango kicked out of the chair and stalked back to his make-shift prison, where he had been keeping her. She sat on the ground in a small puddle of Senator, her nightdress - and only now did he notice how scantily clad it was, the soft silk giving way to creamy shoulders and damnably long legs. Her arms were folded, her eyes closed - and for a moment, despite knowing damn better, he pitied her.

"Hey, Senator," he barked. 

She looked up at him, bright brown eyes the color of burnished wheat looked up at him. "What?" 

He liked that; despite the way she looked pitiful, drawn up in her nightclothes and bare limps and little else, she still had her attitude. That was something that would serve her well if Tyrannus chose to keep her with him, to make him part of her crew. The man always admired spirit. 

He leaned down into the hold and picked up a ladder, holding it tantalizingly close to her. "You promise to behave?"  
  
"No," she said, staring back at him with steely eyes. "I never make promises I don't keep."

Damn. That self-confidence in her eyes, the set of her shoulders - she was determined and kriff, oh _kriff_ , he was starting to even like the damn hellcat. He let the ladder fall downward. t was a short thing, unimpressive; that, Jango found, was often the key to not being overly suspicious when it came to getting close to his targets. No station's quartermaster looked twice at a beat up short ladder next to a cargo bay that was just a few inches over-regulation. Being smart and careful kept you alive in this business. Being dumb - or kriff, falling for a woman like a hellcat - was what got you killed in the field.

And Jango had spent a long time living through his field assignments.

"Just get up here," he said, waving one gloved hand towards her. There was a threat to his voice, he well knew, and it was one that she perceived. She stared up at him, her eyes furious, as she stumbled up the ladder. He noticed the small peaks of her breasts shifting as she climbed, and noted with some approval how lovely she looked in motion - she was not a soft thing, this senator. She was a wild thing constrained in a senator's silky life, and this made him all the more curious about her. 

She looked down at her former imprisonment with a mixture of pity and anger. He noticed that she had left the ration's pack behind, and smirked. Damn stubborn woman. In another place, at another time, he suspected they would be quick friends - and perhaps even something more. 

"Come," he said, again in a tone that brooked no argument. If keeping the hellcat on a leash made her complaint, realistically, he had little to complain about. 

She took a faltering step, only to tumble forward as the cuffs on her legs limited her movement. "Kriff!" She swore. 

"Hm." He pulled a small key from one of his side pouches and squatted down. He stared at her furious fight, bright pink with embarrassment and anger both. He lightly touched one soft leg and did not miss how the muscles tensed beneath him. Though it took steely effort, he didn't glance down to what hid between her manacled legs - he wasn't one for taking advantage of her like that, though he knew there were many bounty hunters who would do more than look without a second glance. 

He unlocked her leg manacle, throwing it to the side. "Don't make me regret that," he said. It was meant to come off in a threatening fashion, but the hellcat, as usual, did not read it this way. She grunted and stood, rubbing her legs first for a moment.

She did not say thank you, and he did not say that she was welcome. But it was something unusual between them, he knew; a sort of unspoken respect for one another. She held out her still manacled arms in open challenge. He did not choose to humor her in this. He would grant her some of her mobility, but he'd be damned if he tried to take the hellcat out of his control entirely. 

"This way," he barked. 

She followed, though he could not say if this was because she was giving in or if she was looking for opportunities to stab him in the back. He sat down in the pilot's chair and beckoned for her to sit near him. She stared at him as if he was growing a bantha head.

"Sit," he said, then, realizing that this might make him sound rather soft, he turned toward her and said, "Don't get ideas. I've decided to keep an eye on you, that's all."

"I'm sure you only wish not to ruin the merchandise," she sniffed, and that rankled him - if only because it was yet another thing that he could no longer pretend was true. It certainly wasn't as if he felt she was ready to be the mother of his children or anything, no; it was only that he could see the promise in her that he wanted to protect her. She was meant, he thought, for something a lot more hands-on and lot less hoity-toighty. She had a true talent, and it was a shame she was wasting it, being a peon in the duty of someone else.

Still, better not to let on that she'd hit her mark. He tilted his head toward her and began to calculate the second jump, then the third; the third would finally take them to the third moon of Kamino. From there on, he'd use the thrusters, and they'd be there in the better half of an hour. The best part was the autopilot could handle most of it - he just had to keep an eye on his prisoner. 

"Do you have any family?" He asked.

"Why, so you can ransom them too, Jango?" It was the first time she had said his name, and he found it a bit more enchanting than he'd like to. He shook his head, and looked back at her - her eyes were fiery, her cheeks a bright pink.  Anger, he thought, looked good on her.

"Just conversation," he said. "I've a son, myself. Boba." He didn't bring out the details of Boba's birth, believing it irrelevant to the conversation. "He's 10 now. Was just thinking it was about time to teach him the family business, as it were." 

She looked at him as if he had not only grown the bantha head, but that it had sprung up Christmas lights on top of it. "Why would you ever want to bring a child into something as cruel as kidnapping?"  
  
"It's not all bad jobs, you know," he said, defensive. "Sometimes, I'm just getting back something someone is owed. Kids in custody spats where the mom or dad does a runner. Property. Sometimes I'm sent out to find things. But I've always felt it's better to be a free man, pick your targets, and your assignments. I've got the luxury of saying no to anything I don't like to do - can you say the same, senator?" 

She was silent for a long while, even as the stars turned white around them and the hyperdrive re-engaged. She still hadn't spoken by the time the stars returned to their normal positions in another system, the bright blue moon of Cy'belle around them. She said nothing while he re-engaged the hyperdrive, and nothing again as they encountered the next constellations, burning in the sky beyond.  She was so  silent that he wondered if she had simply fallen asleep, but then she turned toward him, as they approached the bright blue world of Kamino.

"I don't think it counts as freedom if you have to hurt people to live," she said, quietly. "Why not be a farmer? Or a baker?" 

"Everyone has their talents," he said, initiating the docking procedure. "This one is mine."

"Is it really that important to you," she asked, "to always be free?"

"I wouldn't want to live any other way, " he said, as the docking bay bounced lightly with their incoming. They were there. He stood and pointed toward the door. "March." 

She refused to get up for a moment, but then stood, icily turning in front of him and sliding outwards, her hips moving from left to right. She was familiar with this type of ship, he noted; how else to explain she instantaneously knew where the exits were? He followed behind, his arm on her shoulder, though she hardly needed the direction. 

Tyrannus and Taun We were waiting at the bottom of the landing pad. Jango stared down at Tyrannus and thought: show time.

5\. Padmé Amidala did not flinch when she saw who was holding her captive.

"Count Dooku," she said. She should not have been surprised, but she was, even if she wouldn't show it. She had heard that he had been gathering people for a cause in his home system, but it seemed he had decided to take it intergalactic. A pity. She could not join in his ideas for a "fair confederacy of like-minded individuals"; without the republic's all for one and one for all system, why, what havoc might have taken place? 

"Senator Amidala," he said as if he was greeting her at a ball and had not just paid for her capture. "Well, you are a sight for sore eyes. Jango," he said, turning his attention toward the bounty hunter at her side. "We were getting quite worried you had been captured by the Jedi." 

She was aware - like most - that Dooku had once been a Jedi. She had been aware that he had left for his own reasons, though she had not bothered to go forth to find what exactly that was. She had seen him in the Senate a few times, as the representative from Serrano; a reigning monarch, if in name only. She was not aware that he had something against the Jedi, but the scorn on the term suggested very much that he did. She filed that way as potentially useful information and kept her eyes on Dooku.

"You cannot rush success," Jango said, dryly. Dooku inclined his head and Jango walked down the rest of the way on the gangplank. With some reservation, she followed. 

"What am I here for?" She said, ignoring the back and forth between the men. They talked as if she was not there, merely a bit of window dressing or a bit of meat on a table between them - a beautiful display, but not what they were focused on.

"You are here as our guest," Dooku hummed, looking very much like he held the entire universe between his fingers. Perhaps he did. "You, senator, are someone who we suspect might be sympathetic to our cause."

"I don't see why you might think that," she said, calmly, trying to feel regal despite the fact that she was dressed like a ragamuffin in a nightie with twisted up hair. "I'm a member of the Republic's Senate, you know." 

"You are," Dooku said. He took a few steps toward her and she felt his eyes cooly evaluating her. He looked curious, but she didn't see any missionary zeal in him;. His eyes were cold, bored. "Your career has not escaped me,  my lady. You've been an advocate for many of the mid and outer rim worlds, with a constant presence in helping to adjugate situations for those worlds. Many of the core members of the Confederacy of Independent Systems have expressed the same frustration with the Republic's rather ...lethargic pace when it comes to action on their worlds." She noted that he left out that their opinions often railed toward the Republic allowing them to make their own decisions, while she pressed for Republican intervention in humanitarian crises...that frequently the Confederacy cared rather little about. 

"I suppose I should be honored for the attention," she said slowly, unsure as to what to say. She was in the valley of a madman now. No doubt this deep into the heart of the Confederacy, there were battle droids surrounding them, hidden in all the corners she couldn't see. The only option she had left at the moment was diplomacy. "I don't think I have ever been a guest in handcuffs before."

"Jango, rid the lady of her bracelets," Dooku said, his voice all but bored. She wondered if he lured everyone he hoped to lure to his cause this way. Somehow, she doubted it. There was something weird about it, his kidnapping of her. She couldn't shake the idea that he barely seemed to care whether or not she was there or not. Generally - and Padmé  was by no means an expert - one was not this disengaged when dealing with a victim of a kidnapping one had orchestrated. 

"I've got to go to a meeting if you'll excuse me." Dooku definitively sounded bored - an odd thing and one that scared her, if only because she could not quite understand why. It made little sense to her.   
  
"That wasn't part of the deal," Jango growled. Padmé took note of this too; Jango preferred a schedule and payment due upon delivery. Count Dooku, it seemed, was less interested in that.

"Add it to your bill if you must," Dooku said, waving a hand. "For now, take her to your chambers. I will brief you with details on what to do with her later." Padmé 's blood ran cold at that. She wasn't the Count's priority - so why take her now? And why leave her in the relatively low surveillance of a mere bounty hunter? Was he trying to prevent her from voting on something that might hurt one of his allies? IF so, why even bother to keep her alive? She would be nothing but a liability. 

"Alright," Jango said, grabbing her arm and leading her over toward the apartments on the small building. "Follow me."

"Lead the way," she sighed. It wasn't as if she had any other choice.

They walked through a painfully long corridor, the white walls the only thing around them for what felt for miles and miles. It was rough and unfortunate, the walls; this facility had been built in a hurry, and she wondered what on earth it could possibly before. Abruptly, Jango turned, opening a door, and tilting his head.

"Go on," he said. When she did not move, he rolled his eyes. "C'mon. It's not a trap." 

With some hesitation, she crossed the door. It was not that she thought it was a trap, but rather, that she did not want to get this personal with the man. She did not want to see his son, his toiletries; there was a danger to that, she knew, knew all too well; he was not an unhandsome man but his ability to do things that could hurt others without even losing the slightest bit of sleep - that frightened her. She wanted to know why he did what he did. She did not want to know him as a person. 

Still, he gently shoved her in, and she came face to face with more or less what he expected.

Four walls - white and bare. It was empty for the most part, clean - almost too clean. And there was little to it but a child sitting in the middle of the room on a couch, who got up and ran toward them.   
  
6\. Something on the hellcat's face softened as Boba ran toward them.

"Papa!" He cried out, smiling broadly. Jango could not help but smile in return. He had been annoyed when the boss had wanted him to take the hellcat back with him; this had not been part of their deal.  The woman tugged at his defenses too plainly, her curious spirit igniting a spirit in him he had not felt in quite some time. However, he could not regret bringing her here, not when he saw how she looked at Boba.

She liked kids, that much was obvious. Her face turned downright wistful, her eyes both longing and sad. He couldn't help but play up his role, ruffling Boba's hair despite the fact that the kid was far too old for such nonsense, and swinging him around. "Good to be home," he said. 

"Who's she?" Boba demanded. He was a chip off of the old block in literally every way, but the most heightened of Jango's traits in Boba had been his curiosity. "Looks human."

"A friend," he said, seeing no reason not to take the tact that Tyrannus had taken. It was odd for the old man to be on Kamino; he wondered if kidnapping the hellcat had been but step one in a fairly complex military move, the sort for which a tin soldier like him wouldn't be used - but his many, many clones just might. He didn't know how many clones were made of him now; Taun We, he was told, made more every day. It was odd to think there were millions using his genetic code - but this, too, was a form of a gift, a true anonymity that would prevent him from being fingered as anything more than a soldier, in time. This was a gift he would pass to Boba, too.

"I'm Padmé," she said, leaning down. He avoided staring at her, though he noticed with a wince that her nightgown made her look more than a woman of the night than a respected potential ally of his most recent employer. Then again, it wasn't as if Boba would notice; Boba had seen few human women in his life, and those that he had tended to be scientists. He would not have the background to even understand such an underworld code. Still, Jango wondered if she wouldn't be more comfortable in actual clothing. 

He turned on his heel before he could question what he was doing, moving toward the clean clothing and pulling out a stretchy sweater and pants. Far too big for the hellcat but better than nothing. He could always charge Tyrannus for the clothing, another reason to demand a larger bill later. 

"Here," he said, roughly shoving the clothing toward her. "Put this on. Fresher is through the back." 

She nodded, turning and going without another word. He realized only then that she was barefoot; her slippers somehow lost in the bowels of Slave 1. He would have to find them if Tyrannus was going to continue to pay him to be her minder. 

Boba grew bored with the conversation and padded back to the couch, putting on a game he'd downloaded from the holonet. Jango took a seat next to him and watched; Boba's hand-eye coordination was getting better, he noted with pride. Even though Boba was literally his very own clone, it still made him feel proud when the boy proved to have his own talents. 

He heard her soft footfalls and looked up as she came over to them, padding over to the couch and joining them. He couldn't help but notice that she kept her distance, her feet curled up underneath from far away. He had to admit to himself that he was attracted to her; seeing her in his own clothes made him think of what might happen, what could happen had she just not been a damn senator. A part of him wondered in Tyrannus meant for him to train her - and found himself less irritated by that idea than he might have been. 

"Boba, is this _Hypergalactic Mynocks_?" She asked; he raised an eyebrow. He could never remember the damn kid's games, and he wouldn't have thought the senator would be into video games. She picked up on his curiosity quickly, shaking her head to the unasked question. "My sister's daughter - Pooja - loves the _Hypergalactic Mynocks_. Too much, according to Sola." 

He laughed. Boba ignored them both, content to play his game. 

"It's pretty," she said, watching the glowing orange mynock wing its way toward freedom. "This must be how you see yourself," she said toward Jango. 

"What do you mean?"  
  
"Running toward freedom, dodging obstacles." She shrugged. "If you ignore the fact that you're killing a lot of harmless Darjeeking, I mean." He watched the screen as she talked; Boba ran and dodged, spearing only the smaller insects, that scurried below - and sometimes tried to dodge out of the way, only to wind up undertrod by a young boy's reflexes. 

"Hm," he said. She had a point but damned if he would admit it. He had made his bones, and his bed, and he knew what that the galaxy was. He was not going to apologize for not being a bug; he had worked his way up to being the Mynock, in this example, and if anyone else failed to reach that level, it was only because they failed themselves. "It isn't the Mynock’s fault he has to eat Darjeeking to survive," he muttered, but this too was met with a long silence.

He glanced at her only to see her looking back at him - her eyes, curious. She gave him the barest hint of a smile and he found it almost intoxicating. 

She looked away as she caught him staring turning and standing toward the door. 

"I'm going to take a walk," she said, and was gone before he could argue. He debated at following her but then - she was on a water-logged planet, with a sea surrounding her on all sides, and a million battle droids in the facility, along with millions of clones. Where on earth was she going to go? 

If there was one thing he knew about big cats, it was that they liked their space.

7\. Kamino was vast and hopeless.

Padmé was surprised that Jango had not followed her, and had aimed to take full advantage of it, trying to find a ship or some other form of rescue. But the halls were empty and bare and depressing, full of wind noise that echoed through the whole facility. Much of it was locked off, annoyingly; most of what was locked behind doors labeled laboratory, filled, judging by the windows, with men who looked exactly like Jango – clones? That seemed far beyond what could be done, but it was possible. She took note of it for when she returned to the Republic – if she did.

Still, she wouldn’t let a few locked doors deter her; in Padmé 's experience, a forgotten unlocked door had led to more than a few turns in her favor. 

It was in this spirit that she entered a dark room and found it startlingly not empty. 

"My lord," Dooku was saying, bowing down. "I have also done what you asked with the Naboo Senator. She is under my control now." 

Her breath caught in her throat but she did not dare to breath; she froze in place, hoping that her place in the shadows kept her beyond view. 

"Excellent," the other voice said; it was older, richer, and Padmé knew it without preamble - it was Palpatine. _Chancellor_ Palpatine. "She will not interfere in my plans to activate the clone army. In fact, the failure of the Jedi to protect her may play right into my hands as regards our plan with the Jedi."

“That will be war for us, you realize,” Dooku continued, and she saw the barest hint of a smile ghost his face from the light of Palpatine’s holo-reflection. “My battle droids will have no choice but to respond to the provocation.”

“Indeed,” Palpatine said, his voice rich and warm. “We shall usher in a new age, my friend.” 

So, it was to be war, to be a military coup of some kind, she thought. She needed to get out of here; she did not want to wait for more information, not now that she knew that the entire universe was little more than a madhouse. Palpatine, she realized numbly, already owned both sides. Palpatine would win, no matter what they did. And there was nothing she could do about it - she had no proof, and few would belief that Palpatine, already incredibly popular, would dare to kidnap her to avoid her breaking a military bill. Palpatine was popular enough she needed proof, though, unfortunately, proof was exactly what she didn't have. And wouldn’t be able to have.

She ran harder. 

There was only one person she could really turn to, though she had misgivings about it. Jango had proven to be selfish, but he was the only person here that wouldn't be on Dooku's payroll. And he seemed caring to his son, if nothing else; a devoted father would not let his son fall into such an evil trap, not if he could handle it.

She made it back through the empty halls without incident, slamming the door behind her. 

"Are you alright?" Jango said; even he sounded uncertain. His eyes were wild and tense – had he been waiting for her? 

"I need to get out of here," she said, licking her lips. "Whatever Dooku gave you, I'll double it." 

"I checked out your financials," he said, quietly. "I know you could pay that - but it would hurt you, financially. Why not stay put here?" He seemed reticent for her to leave and this, too, she filed away as interesting information. Did he have a soft spot for her?

"Get me out of here," she said, "and I'll explain it to you. Bring Boba, too." 

He shrugged and turned toward Boba. "Get packing."

"Dad, really!?" 

"Yes," he rolled his eyes and swatted Boba gently on the arm. "Go." 

He did not bother to pack. His things were in the ship. 

"Your allegiance to credits is, for once, inspiring," she said drily. Boba came to stand next to them, his hands clasped around a child's bag. 

"I am a simple man," he said, with a shrug, and then grabbed her and swiftly led her and Boba out the door. 

He wasn't sure where they were going, but he was a simple man. Padmé was in no hurry to explain, not even bothering to attempt to, instead of turning and calmly walking, barefoot, down to the hallway. He would wait until they were back on the ship.

8\. “So let me get this straight,” he said. "Chancellor Palpatine and Count Dooku are conspiring to take over the Republic?" 

"Yes," she said, feverishly. "We have to get out of Republic space. Find someone - anyone - who can help us get rid of them both." 

"An interesting prospect," he said, thought what he thought was mad.  Mandalore had been in the middle of many wars and had always wound up worse for it. The only thing one could do in times of uncertainty was to get going wherever the wind wasn’t blowing. But still, she was paying, and he would acknowledge what she wanted – for now. "And just how do you plan to do that?" 

"To find simple men," she said, smirking softly. "From what I understand, there are a lot of them."

"Sure," he said, "but they don't stand up to the original."

"No, definitively not," she agreed. He looked over, startled by her agreeing to his flirting, and she winked at him. 

“You might not find enough men willing to follow just for the rule of law,” he said, softly. He placed a hand on her shoulder and found it muscular, hard. Oh yes, she definitively had prospects. “What will you do if we don’t find an army?”

“Then, we will live it out, living as simple people. I cannot save the galaxy but I can save your family and that – that may have to be enough,” she said gently.

“And I will do what I can to make sure you do not come to harm,” Jango whispered, and then – kriff, what did he have to lose? He pressed a kiss to her lips and found her deepen it, her arms curled around his head. “We’ll find a way,” he said, knowing it was stupid, and she pressed her head on his shoulder.

He wasn't sure where they were going, or how they were going to prove that the two major governments in the galaxy were in cahoots, but there was one thing he knew: it was going to be interesting with Padmé  Amidala by his side. 

 


End file.
